


Primarch Interuptis

by Lost_gallifrey



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_gallifrey/pseuds/Lost_gallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs a little downtime, even Primarchs. Shepard and Garrus decide to introduce Adrien Victus to the concept of 'blowing off steam', it helps when the Primarch has a few kinks of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The naked war council

The holographic details of the assembling galactic troops were spread across the war room interface in disarray. In fact, Shepard realized, her tits were pressed fully against the information on Hanar fleet deployment. ‘Enkindle that’ she thought inanely.

Somewhere in the background, an accidentally bumped schematic produced a monotone Elcor breakdown of improved thermal venting in Thannix canon arrays. Distantly Shepard was aware of the com light blinking urgently to her left, but as Garrus licked and nibbled a path between her shoulder blades she found the concept of yet another 2AM vid call with Admiral Hackett to be less than appealing. When he growled and pressed against her strongly enough that she could feel the hardness of him against the cleft of her ass, she waved a gleeful farewell to her ousted sense of duty.

A few minutes later, as the elcor was STILL managing to drone on (with great sincerity) in the background, Shepard arched her back with a gasp as Garrus slid his rough tongue along the her inner thigh, curling it with admirable precision around her clit. She sat up far enough to curl her fingers under his fringe, pressing hard enough into the sensitive nerves there to make him give a kind of humming chirp and dig his talons into the skin of her thighs. 

Hauling Garrus up by the front of his Hierarchy issue combat fatigues, Shepard wrapped her tongue around his in their variation of a human style kiss, then moved down to nibble at the hinge of one mandible as best she could. 

“Spirits, I missed you” Garrus muttered against her neck as she skated her hand down his angular torso to cup his unplated hardness through the heavy fabric of his pants.

“Yeah yeah,G” Shepard grinned, enjoying the way he arched against her hand, a low growl in his chest. “You always break out the smooth talk when you want in my pants.”

“ I don’t think I would fit in your pants Shepard” Garrus laughed, curling a talon carefully into her wet heat. “And I’m just not sure they would be flattering.”

Shepard was just about to swing her panties at Garrus in a moment of childish retaliation, when a sight made her very blood run cold. This wasn’t the kind of chill one got from facing husks, ancient sentient plants, or even Rachni. Even the full fury of a Noveria blizzard would seem like a balmy breeze in comparison. This wasn’t even the sick, coiling dread of handing a datapad to the spectre requisitions officer, only to realize Joker had replaced the stock order with a vid entitled “Two Dalatrass, one beaker.” This was so much worse.

This was the realization that over the sound of the droning elcor, and her own vocal encouragement, Shepard had not heard the hiss of the door opening. So there she was, Commander Shepard, Hero of the Citadel, bare assed on the war room table, with her hand in her XOs pants. Speechless as Primarch Adrian Victus stares at her in slack-mandibled shock, and a miniature hologram of Harbinger did another parabolic pass of her left nipple.

For a long moment Shepard remained frozen, it took Garrus a few seconds to realize that something was wrong; a glance at her face and he was turning to look behind him with almost comic slowness.

“Good evening Primarch.” Shepard managed somehow to maintain a level authority in her voice as she hurriedly refastened her Alliance jacket. Her pants, she noticed with a sigh, were about six yards away, draped limply over a console screen; the victim of one of Garrrus’s more enthusiastic throws. Demurely crossing her legs, Shepard tried to look commanding….a look made difficult by a lack of pants, and the fact that she was wearing only one boot. Garrus was still staring at Victus with a look of complete horror on his face, the hide on his neck flushing blue with embarrassment.

“Commander Shepard.” Victus folded his arms, a mandible twitched in what Shepard hoped was amusement. “While I’m most impressed with your dedication to interspecies…..communication….I wondered if I might have a word in private”. He leveled an unreadable gaze at Garrus, who was starting to shuffle his weight back ond forth nervously, “ I’m sure your commander will have need of your… expertise later.”

Garrus threw Shepard an apologetic and hunted glance, and started for the door with the look of someone who has suddenly decided that the airlock is looking like a lovely holiday destination. 

“Garrus” Victus stopped him in his tracks, “do you not think it would be appropriate to return your commander’s undergarments?” The Primarch arched a browplate at the hapless sniper, and Shepard realized with a kind of perverse amusement that yes, her decidedly non-regulation thong was hanging from Garrus’s left spur in a blaze of aquamarine.

The skin along Garrus’s neck was almost navy now, Shepard wondered absently if turians could actually have aneurisms, and if so, was she about to bear witness to one? To her surprise, it was Victus who reached down and unhooked her errant thong with one talon, leaving Garrus to flee the scene with as much remaining dignity as he could muster.

“ So,” Victus began, idly swinging her thong around one talon like an asari stripper about to fling it into the crowd. “I was hoping hoping to discuss krogan troop movement through the DMZ with you, I seem to have encountered some logistical troubles that could use a second opinion.”

An hour later, after the Primarch had kindly turned around so Shepard could retrieve her distant pants, the krogan issue had been resolved and Shepard was rubbing a hand through her close cropped hair and trying to decide if bed or food was the best option. Primarch Victus had just excused himself and was padding towards the door, when he turned back almost hesitantly.

“Commander,” he began, “I know it is none of my concern, but I consider Garrus a friend; he spoke often of you when we fought together, always with great loyalty and respect.” Victus raised his head, avian eyes meeting Shepard’s with a directness that surprised her, “You are his commanding officer, it is obvious he would follow you anywhere….I can only hope you do not abuse that trust to satisfy your own sexual curiosity. He deserves better.”

Shepard felt her face start to flush with anger. “ Its not ‘sexual curiosity!’” she all but hissed, fists unconsciously clenching as she blurted out ”I love him!” Seconds after the words had left her mouth Shepard wished she could snatch them from the air and cram them back down her throat. A military commander, and now planetary ruler was not going to find confessions of love from a human appropriate, or believable. In the back of her mind the turian councilor raised mocking talons and snarked ’love, I dismiss this claim.’

To Shepard’s surprise, Victus stared at her for a moment, mandibles flaring in a slight smile. “I am glad. Forgive me for causing you anger, I knew of his feelings for you from the moment he mentioned you…I was merely ascertaining if they were reciprocated.” The Primarch stepped back through the door with an inclination of his head, “ I am glad you have found each other, the burdens of command are lighter if they can be shared.”

Shepard stared after him for a full minute, not sure if she was impressed by his protection of Garrus, or seethingly angry he had considered it his business. It wasn’t until after she had assigned her feelings on the matter to a stalemate between the two options, that she realized with a kind of stunned shock that Primarch Adrian Victus had stolen her underwear.


	2. The best laid plans

As she walked into the dimmed lighting of her private cabin Shepard had to shake her head. When her and Garrus had first become an item, he had maintained an awkward, almost shy demeanor in the rare times she coaxed him into her quarters; he always seemed very careful not to infringe on what he clearly viewed as her territory. Somewhere along the way that particular situation had changed, and now, Shepard sighed ruefully, her quarters looked like a turian shaped hurricane had passed through. Armour on the floor, (nowhere near the storage unit) datapads spread across the couch, rifle leaning against the fish tanks, empty bottles and food containers on the table, and the turian in question taking up a good three quarters of the bed in a loose-limbed sprawl.

Shedding her clothing for the second time that evening, Shepard padded down the stairs to the bed. Garrus still had a datapad clasped loosely in one hand, Shepard slid it free, wondering what he had been working on. Tapping the pad on she snorted to realize he hadn’t been working, but watching ‘Aeternus’, a serialized turian drama that Shepard considered to be a completely baffling mix of random sexual encounters, head-scratching politics and expansively gory battle scenes.

He didn’t wake as Shepard tossed the datapad to join the others on the couch, or even when she eased onto the available space on the bed. Abandoning subtlety she leaned down to bite lightly at the sensitive skin along his waist, digging her fingertips into the sweeping arch of his hip joint until he came awake with a pleased hum.

“Do I assume we didn’t start some kind of horrible diplomatic incident” Garrus rumbled, reaching down to skate his talons lightly down her spine.

“That depends.” Shepard slid down to press her tongue to the join of pubic plating between his thighs, “if you consider the fact that I discovered the Primarch is a perv, then yes, we have started a horrible diplomatic incident.”

Garrus arched his back with a kind of gasping keen as the protective plating eases back under Shepard’s insistent tongue, and she pumps him gently with one hand. “ H..he walks in on us, and now he’s the perv?”

“He’s a perv,” Shepard licks a path up his shaft, making him jerk in her grasp, “because he stole my thong.”Garrus gives a sharp bark of laughter, and Shepard looks sternly at him, her hand tightening on him slightly until he schools his mandibles into a less amused position. “ Why would the Primarch of Palaven steal my underwear G?”

Garrus manages to sit up enough to press his face into the arch of her throat, and Shepard can feel the rough heat of his tongue curling along the throb of her pulse. “Probably because you smell really, reaaaally good,” he mumbles as his rough palm cups one breast, thumb claw scratching gently across the nipple.

“Flatterer!” Shepard chastises with amusement, as she knee walks up the bed to straddle his hips, feeling his length pressing urgently against her opening. “And do you go thieving through my laundry bin too?” She teases him, swiveling her hips, grinding her wetness against him until he grasps her waist with a growl.

“I don’t need to” he smirks, pulling Shepard down onto him, filling her with a sharp jerk, “I’ve got the real thing!”

Shepard had just turned twenty when she discovered that the mystique of superiority held by the turian race was about as shoddy as a volus-made prefab in an Invictus hurricane. Until then, Alliance brass had drummed into their new recruits that the tentatively allied turians were a race to be very wary of. They were tacticians and dedicated soldiers, they painted them as a proud and utterly disciplined people, devoid of humor or the ability to unwind. 

When the Alliance frigate Helsinki, Shepard’s first space deployment, docked at a space station on the edges of turian space for ship repairs, she had the dubious good fortune to be dismissed for shore leave at the same time the crew of the turian cruiser Eraltus. 

Shepard had once seen her second cousin throw a home crafted lift-grenade at the buffet line during his brother’s graduation party. The sight of gaudily clothed relatives soaring skyward with a colossal amount of foodstuffs was an image that had stuck in her brain for years. The sheer magnificent chaos of it was the only thing Shepard could think of that compared with watching sixty turian marines hit the bar for the first time after six months of deep space patrol runs. 

They drank, fought, engaged in a truly staggering amount of recreational drug usage, and displayed what Shepard could only describe as an ‘impressive penchant for lewd public behavior.’ As she watched a grizzled male with striking white face markings snort red sand from the cleavage of a rather well endowed batarian waitress, Shepard realized that her romanticized view of the galaxies’ varied species could not have been more wrong. 

Having ascertained this, Shepard had spent the rest of the evening playing a variation of strip poker with two turian males. They were joined by a strikingly patterned female who spent her time dissolving into near hysterical laughter after consuming what appeared to be a freeze dried purple beetle procured by one of her shipmates. As the night wound down, and the poker game had dissolved into an interspiecies exercise in mutual exploration, Shepard came to the conclusion that while turians were indeed excellent combat tacticians and soldiers..... they were also the kinkiest damn bastards in the galaxy.

With that information in mind, the pillow talk of the next morning should have come as no real surprise.

“I’ve been thinking” Garrus mumbled, still blinking sleepily.

“Poor baby.” Shepard gave him a commiserating pat on the cheek, “I know how difficult you find that,” laughing as he mock snapped at her fingers.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started again, narrowing a blue eye at Shepard. “Primarch Victus is probably very lonely.” Garrus sounded slightly wistful, “its strange being stationed on an Alliance ship, and he has all the pressure of command with no way to express it as he could if he was with a turian crew.”

“Ok, so we get him a date with the consort next time we hit Citadel. “ Shepard shrugged, “anything to keep him from filching any more of my clothing.”

Garrus was tapping the talons of one hand against the plating on the back his opposite wrist, a habit Shepard recognized from when he was particularly nervous about something. “There was something else I had in mind….that’s a bit more….personal.” At Shepard’s arched eyebrow he made a funny circular motion that seemed to include him, her, and the bed.

While Garrus discovered a fascination with picking threads on the coverlet, Shepard’s sleep fuzzy brain finally managed to catch up with the suggestion.‘”Oh” she thought with rising amusement, “OH!”

It wasn’t the suggestion of bringing another person to their bed that surprised Shepard, after all, that bridge had been crossed with enthusiasm quite a long time ago. It came as no great shock that Shepard and Garrus were as good a team between the sheets as they were on the battlefield. There had been Etarn, the exhaustingly enthusiastic Citadel shopkeeper. Dr. Michelle who had demonstrated an understanding of alien physiology that left Garrus with a glazed expression that lasted days, and most recently a truly memorable liaison with Matriarch Aethyta that had ended with Shepard unable to look Liara in the eye for the better part of a month. It could be said there were certain benefits to centuries of exploration and experience.

No, it definitely wasn’t the concept that surprised Shepard; it was the choice of target.

“A Primarch, Garrus? Really?” Shepard couldn’t help but laugh. 

“He is my friend, and my commander,” Garrus shuffled his talons against the sheets. “Don’t humans support their commanders?”

Shepard thought of Admiral Hackett and Captain Anderson with a slight shudder. “We tend to support them without the involvement of our vaginas.”

“It’s a bit different for turians,” Garrus explained, with an amused twitch of a mandible at her bluntness, “especially in combat situations. Normally a Primarch in office would most likely have a bondmate, or at the very least a personal guard picked from a previous command. Adrian doesn’t have that luxury, he went from a battle command to this,” Garrus waved a talon at the walls of the Normandy around them.

“ Oh its ‘Adrian’ now is it?” Shepard countered with a wicked smirk. She couldn’t deny the idea had merit though, the Primarch certainly cut a fine figure; he had a broader face than Garrus, with heavy curving mandibles, darker plating and intricate off-white colonial markings. She tried to imagine how that dark brown scale would look against her own pale skin, against the grey/tan of Garrus and shivered. “Ok,” she decided firmly, looking over at Garrus. “How do we tell if he’s interested?”

“Shepard…..He stole your underwear,” he reminds her patiently, “and when he walked in on us, his pheromones were so strong I’m supprised turians in the next spiral arm didn’t come to see what was going on.” Garrus flares his mandibles in slightly smug grin, “if I hadn’t been so damned mortified I would have stayed, it could have gotten very interesting, very fast.”

“You turians and your bloody pheromones” Shepard aims an affectionate flick at his nasal plating. “So we know he’s interested, can we just haul his official ass up here?”

Garrus gives a snort of amusement, “he just might take offense to that….I’m thinking of something a little bit more subtle.”

“You, subtle?” Shepard shakes her head, “I can’t wait to hear this.”


	3. Standing at attention

Luring a Primarch into one’s bed was considerably more difficult than Shepard had originally thought. With a sigh, she ‘accidentally’ dropped the third datapad of the day, making sure Victus had looked up before she bent over to retrieve it. This particular pair of Alliance trousers was a size smaller than her usual, clinging to her hips and rear in a way that would have made Miranda Lawson proud; and they had definitely made Victus raise a browridge every time she retrieved something. The attire also seemed to raise crew morale. Garrus gave an almost inaudible hum of appreciation each time he saw her, and Specialist Traynor had spent the morning grinning like Christmas had come early.

Shepard wished she could understand exactly what Garrus was doing every time he came into contact with the Primarch. Some tactics were obvious, an accidental brush against spur or hip; other times Shepard would watch Garrus do something as simple as hand over a datapad, and Victus would get this look of faintly glazed surprise, she could only assume it was something scent, or hormone based that unfortunately didn’t translate. A few times Shepard saw the Primarch start to turn, mouth opening to say something, then seem to shake himself, and return to whatever task was occupying him. 

The plan had been to pressure Victus until he made the first move, but several days of coercive tactics had so far resulted in nothing but making the Primarch perhaps a bit more formal, and Shepard went to drown her growing frustrations in the shower. As the last of the water swirled into the drain, Shepard gave her cropped hair a quick towel-scrub before wrapping the now damp cloth around her body and padding out into her quarters. She was just scooping up discarded clothing and lobbing it in the general direction of the laundry hamper when she heard the door click open, and the familiar click of taloned feet on the floor. 

“Commander, I…..” Primarch Victus froze as he realized Shepard was just wearing a towel and waving a handful of rumpled clothing in one hand. “….I apologize. Garrus told me you wished to speak with me in your quarters…but he must have been mistaken.”

“Actually” Garrus wandered in, mandibles quirking in amusement when he saw Shepard’s towel, “I wasn’t mistaken at all, and you” he pointed a talon at the startled Primarch, “are the most oblivious man I’ve ever met.”

Victus drew himself up stiffly, hands folded behind his back with rigid, military precision. “It wasn’t that I was….oblivious to your advancements, so much as unwilling to intrude.”

“And why” Garrus stepped up directly behind Victus, lightly resting one hand on the other man’s shoulder, “would we have instigated this if it was an intrusion.” Pressing his forehead against the darker plates on the Primarch’s neck, Garrus gave an oddly endearing growl/chirp that made the other turian shiver. 

Victus seemed torn, his head automatically tilting back as Garrus nibbled lightly at the scales on his neck, protesting: “but….your commander.”

“His commander” Shepard let her towel unwind in a coil to the floor, “is very, very OK with this.” She stepped forward, boldly sliding her hands across his midriff, curling around the dip of his waist. “So how about you relax,” she meets Garrus’s eyes over his shoulder with a smile, “ and let us take care of you.”

It was difficult, Shepard thought, no matter how much practice one had, to disrobe a turian without making it look like one was loosing a tug of war. Unfortunately one could not simply grab a tunic hem and haul it off over their head like a human garment; it tended to tangle, and inevitably wound up delivering a wrench to sensitive mandibles or fringe, effectively ending any further romantic interludes for the day. Shepard could remember making that mistake a few times early on with Garrus, and spending the evening watching vids in a deep state of shame, while Garrus sulked with an ice pack at the opposite end of the couch.

When the last snap on Victus’s jacket came free with a dull click , Shepard resisted the urge to voice a loud cheer. Garrus took over at that point, easing the heavy material off over the Primarch’s shoulders and cowl. When the garment dropped to the floor, tension seemed to bleed out of Victus, and he heaved a shuddering sigh, turning his head to lick tentatively at the scarred edge of Garrus’ mandible. 

Shepard slid to her knees, tracking her hands down Victus’s legs as she went, taking the time to run her hands over his tapered spurs and the sensitive hide behind them, earning a quiver of muscles in his thighs as she began unsnapping the toggles and buckles that fastened his trousers. She pressed her mouth to exposed hide and plating as she went, enjoying the musky/sweet scent of his skin and the startled murmur her actions caused. 

Victus’s colonial paint extended further than the intricate markings on his facial plating, arching across his shoulders in waves, tapering down the overlapping plating on his chest. Shepard watched as Garrus traced a hand over the pale markings, digging slightly curved talons into gaps in the other turian’s plating and making him arch back against the sniper with a sharp gasp.

Oral sex wasn’t something that male turians tended to engage in. Garrus had once cheerfully explained to Shepard that female pairings of his species tended to enjoy the rough, flexible tongues of their partners, but that nobody with a rough tongue and teeth like a shark was going anywhere near his genitalia. The first time Shepard had gone down on her turian partner was one of the most memorable experiences in her recent memory, and also the first time she had actually seen Garrus unable to supply any manner of sarcastic, or even coherent, commentary on the situation.

Shepard pressed her hand against the warmth of the plating between Victus’s thighs, feeling the thrum of his pulse against her palm and running her thumb firmly along the slightly damp seam of his pubic plates.

“What are you…..oh spirits” Victus muttered as Shepard pressed her mouth against him, letting her tongue follow the path her tongue had just taken.

Garrus rumbled an encouragement, hands curving up over the Primarch’s throat, face and elegantly patterned fringe spines. Victus gave a sharp, shuddering jerk and his guard plates slid back, and the hard heat of him was pressing against Shepard’s cheek. 

Shepard curls her hand around his base, watching the muscles in his stomach quiver, and feeling the careful rasp of his talons against the crown of her head. She lets her eyes drift upwards, Victus is staring at her with a stunned expression, mandibles slightly slack and eyes almost glazed with pleasure.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely, lust increasing the tonal shifts of his flanged voice. “Please.”

With a smile, Shepard cups her hands around the back of his thighs and pulls him forward as she slides her mouth down over him. 

Victus gives a soft keening cry as he shivers in her grip, one hand curling to cup the back of her head with gentle pressure as the other reaches back to grasp Garrus at the hip, pulling him firmly against the older male’s body. He drops his head back, twisting his neck to bite lightly at Garrus’ throat, rasping his tongue against the pulse throbbing beneath the tan hide, making the sniper groan and press harder against him.

Shepard knows Victus wont last long, his voice is rising into that familiar turian panting moan, and his thighs are shivering under her hands as he tries not to thrust too sharply into the soft heat of her mouth. She relaxes her throat, taking him as deeply as she can, humming a gentle encouragement, silently thanking Mordin for the subcutaneous epi-implant he had delivered upon his return to the Normandy.

As Garrus skates his rough palms down the soft hide of Victus’s waist, digging thumb claws into the sensitive nerves just below the protruding hip joints, the Primarch comes with a gasping cry that sounds almost painful.

Shepard lets the familiar sharp, sweet tang fill her mouth, gently suckling him as he shudders against her, digging claws sharply into her neck. She isn’t surprised when his knees start to buckle, and Garrus has to lower him to the floor to prevent him from simply collapsing. 

Victus leans forward, resting his forehead against Shepard’s shoulder, breath coming hot and fast against her neck as a low thrum of contentment rises in his chest. After a minute he raises his head long enough to carefully nibble at her hair, an affectionate preening gesture of thanks; he raises a taloned hand to cup against Garrus’ jaw, rubbing a claw gently along the inside of a mandible.

“Thank you,” he says simply, with his trademark dignity, the harmonics in his voice lacking the tension that had always seemed present before.

Shepard gives an unladylike snort that makes Victus twitch his mandibles with a click of surprise. “Don’t thank us yet,” she smirks, “we’re only just getting started!”


End file.
